


Humble Beginnings

by Beuphtiful



Series: Bruniik Fus, Krent Mon Do Akatosh [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Mild Language, slow burn (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beuphtiful/pseuds/Beuphtiful
Summary: This is a series of short one-shots of Aerisif in the Thieves Guild. Just little snapshots of her with Guild members, and the beginnings of her relationship with Brynjolf!(You might enjoy reading Homecoming first! This just takes place earlier in Aerisif's timeline)





	1. Competition

Aerisif slammed down her tankard on the bar of the Ragged Flagon. The underground tavern echoed with voices regaling tales of thievery and crime. The smith that had moved in was clanging away at some piece of metal. Tonilia scoffed at an offer. Her mead was cold, her feet were warm, and her pack full of stolen things. Life was good.

“Another?” Vekel asked, nodding at Aerisif’s empty tankard.

She slid the mug toward him, with a _do you even need to ask_ expression on her face. He chuckled and began refilling the tankard.

“Ah, back from a job, eh?” Delvin slid onto the barstool next to Aerisif.

She leaned forward. “Check it out. Hit ‘em hard, just like you asked.” Aerisif leaned down to the pack at her side and removed an assortment of items: an ornately decorated potion bottle, two silver necklaces with an emerald and sapphire embedded in them respectively, and a golden ring that glowed with an enchantment.

Delvin inspected each one with scrutiny. “My, my, you have out done yourself again, Aer,” He nodded to a thief at a nearby table, who hurriedly gathered them up and went to catalog them. “And here’s your cut.” Delvin handed Aerisif a heavy leather pouch.

Her eyes glinted greedily. “My favorite part!” She smiled, quickly tucked away the coin and took a swig from her newly refilled tankard of mead. Aerisif let her eyes close for a moment, savoring the sweet taste of the Black-Briar Mead that was always on tap.

“Risky business there lass, a thief with her eyes closed.” Brynjolf smirked at her as he took the seat on the other side of Delvin.

Aerisif rolled her eyes pointedly while Delvin was looking, but once he turned to look at Brynjolf, she let her eyes twinkle and smirked back.

“Strong words from a man who spends most of his time bent over a table,” she jabbed back, cocking her head to one side. “Or is that just what’s comfortable for you now? I’m sure with all the bending over you do for Mercer—“

“I’d end that sentence right there, lass,” Brynjolf said over Devlin’s guffaws. A couple other nearby thieves snickered, and Vekel was chuckling as well. Brynjolf snuck a wink at Aerisif.

She felt a chill run through her body, but concealed it. Knowing she had his attention, she took another drink from her tankard, letting her eyes roll back as she savored the flavor. She thought she caught Brynjolf bite his lip a little as she opened her eyes and put the mug back down.

“Say what you will about the Black-Briars, but that clan knows how to make some damned good mead.”

“And you best watch what you say about the Black-Briars,” Delvin warned. “Word has it Maven’s been speakin’ with Mercer. And that’s never good.” He took a long swing from his own mead.

The three thieves all grimaced slightly and drank again. Maven was the patroness of the Guild, and if she was unhappy, everyone was unhappy.

“Did I see you bring back some darling little trinkets for Delvin?” Brynjolf asked, changing the subject.

“Darling little trinkets?? DARLING LITTLE TRINKETS? I pulled a solid bedlam job, that’s what I did!” Aerisif pretended to be indignant.

“Oh, and I’m sure you did it _very well_, lass,” Brynjolf said patronizingly, “Good on you. We need someone to pull the little jobs while us _real_ thieves commit true acts of larceny.” He smirked again. His emerald eyes sparkled.

“Little jobs? Delvin, please tell Brynjolf the exact value of that haul.” Aerisif pulled herself up haughtily.

“Well, I don’ know if I know the _exact_ value—“ Delvin began.

“Fuck off with that nonsense. You see an item, you know its worth in every currency man or mer exchanges.” Aerisif cut in.

Delvin raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine. That one was…let’s see…carry the one, add three…” he pretended to need his fingers to solve the equation.

“Today, Delvin.”

“Twenty two and forty three septims.”

Aerisif turned to Brynjolf. “Did you get that, _lad,_ or can you count that high?” She grinned, mocking.

Brynjolf chuckled. “Cute, lass, real cute. I remember when I would have counted that as an accomplishment myself, _waaay back_ in my days as a footpad.” He crossed his arms. “Face it lass, I’m the best thief around here.”

“Dare you to say that to Mercer.”

“I said I’m the best thief, not the dumbest thief.”

“Oh, come off it you two. Actin’ like damn children.” Delvin shook his head, smiling and faking disappointment. “There’s no need for this.”

Aerisif sat straight up. “You’re right. There is no need. We can settle it, once and for all.”

Brynjolf matched her devilish gaze. “You’re on. What do you have in mind?”

“A competition. Delvin can moderate.”

Delvin froze, his tankard to his lips. “Delvin can what now?” he said, his voicing echoing off the tankard.

Aerisif leaned forward. “Three days. Three challenges. The winner brings back the highest valued item. Riften only. Jail time is instant disqualification.” She looked between Delvin and Brynjolf. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Brynjolf reached his hand out across Delvin, and Aerisif shook it. “Delvin, what are our marks?”

Delvin sighed. “You two,” he shook his head. “Fine. Each challenge, bring back the highest valued item you can get your hands on, any item. No gold, items only. One at a time, can’t hit the same mark twice. That’s for the first two.”

Aerisif eagerly jumped in. “And for the third?”

“Once you’ve both brought back your first two items, I’ll assign a high level target. One item. Winner is the first one that brings it back to me.”

“And what’s the winner get?” Brynjolf crossed his arms. “What are the stakes?”

“Braggin’ rights.”

“Delvin,” Both Aerisif and Brynjolf warned.

“Fine. Winner gets all the gold the items are valued at. Fair?”

Aerisif nodded. “Fair.”

Brynjolf winked at her. “Fair.” And with that,he launched himself from his stool and took off into the Cistern.

Aerisif lunged after him, grabbing her pack as she raced off. “You ass!”

***

It was perfect night for thieving, the new moon having been only a few days past. Clouds covered the sliver of moon, giving Aerisif ample shadow to slip through.

The lock on Aerin’s door picked easy. Aerisif’s leather boots made no sound on the wooden floors. She crept towards the stairs. Mjioll and Aerin kept their valuables upstairs in their bedroom with them. They thought it kept them safer.

_Doesn’t make a damn difference to us, Mjioll. We’ll get ‘em anyways._

Aerisif had just put her foot on the first stair when

_THONK._

Aerisif froze.

_THONK CLINK._

The sound—a rock on a window pane?—came from upstairs. Mjioll and Aerin leapt out of their beds and were shouting. They started to thunder down the stairs.

Aerisif tore out of there like her ass was on fire.

Once outside and in the safety of a shadow, she saw she wasn’t alone.

Brynjolf was crouched next to her, practically in _tears_ holding back laughter, a rock in his hand and several more piled at his feet.

“You ASS!” Aerisif smacked him on the head and took off running down the street.

Brynjolf won the first round; he came back with a golden necklace, and Aerisif returned with a finely crafted sword. _Not finely crafted enough._

***

Aerisif was drinking up the first shadows of the evening, leaning up against the Bee and Barb, listening to the shoppers trade gossip. She was getting bored; nothing newer than Bolli still cheating on his wife. She was about to leave when she heard a new voice. Lifting her eyes to its source, she wasn’t too surprised by what she saw.

A broad man in shining armor sauntered through the market. He was followed by another man, also fully clad in armor, but of a lesser quality. This second man wore a shield, with the Windhelm bear and chevron inked on its face.

_A thane and his housecarl, _mused Aerisif. _Bless the fools for being so easily identifiable._

The thane was browsing Modesi’s wares. His housecarl was always nearby, like a dog. _Poor thing_, Aerisif thought in disgust. _To be pining so hard for attention, to be so close to power, and yet have none._ Aerisif frowned. That thought made her think unkindly on her position in the Guild, so she shook that thought out of her head. Just in time to see the thane pick up a second shadow.

Brynjolf was a good thief, but brash. He kept his distance from the thane, and never took his eyes off the thane and his house-dog, but he was being reckless with no one to watch his back. Aerisif smirked as an idea came to her. She circled the market, watching Brynjolf watch his mark.

Brynjolf cut the thane’s purse swiftly and slunk away. He quickly sorted the contents; he sifted the coins away and grinned ear to ear at the one, two, THREE gold diamond rings in his palm. Aerisif watched closely as he tucked those in his pocket.

_Your POCKET, Bryn??_ Aerisif felt her heart quicken. _Too easy_. _You cocky bastard._

Brynjolf never saw his shadow, never felt the hand in his pocket. It wasn’t until he returned to Delvin and realized with a drop of his jaw that he was empty handed and Aerisif was reaping the rewards of his efforts. The rewards of three gold diamond rings.

Aerisif won that round.

***

Brynjolf left Delvin’s issuing of the third and final challenge, his mind working out how to pull off the heist. Delvin had declared that the thief that could bring him the ledger that Anuriel kept, the Steward to the Jarl, would be the winner.

Getting into Mistveil Keep was no easy task. Stealing from it was even harder. Brynjolf walked aimlessly through the cistern, eyes glazed slightly as his mind worked through the plan.

An hour or so later, he had figured it out. There was no way he could just walk into the Keep and into the Steward’s quarters, the guards would stop him. But he knew of a back way, a series of tunnels that ought to put him in the hallway outside.

After dark, Brynjolf crawled though the stone tunnels under the city. Dressed in Guild leathers, he was nearly invisible in the shadows. He made no sound as he lifted the trapdoor outside the steward’s quarters. Opening it an inch, he watched as a guard turned the corner and out of sight.

_Aerisif is going to be so mad when I win this,_ he thought with a smirk. Brynjolf knew he wouldn’t have much time before the guard would come back on her rounds. He slid silently into the steward’s quarters.

Anuriel was sleeping soundly, lying still and breathing steadily. Brynjolf crept over to the table by the bed. A floorboard creaked.

Brynjolf froze. The sound seemed to echo in the night.

But no movement came from the bed where the steward slept, and no commotion came from the hallway outside. He held his breath and took another step.

Silence.

Releasing his breath, Brynjolf took the final few steps to the bedside table. He lifted the leather bound book from its resting place and quickly turned back to the door, avoiding the noisy floorboard this time. Pausing at the door, he listened for the sound of the guard’s steps. The heavy clunk of metal boots grew louder, stopped for a moment, and then diminished as the guard continued her rounds.

Brynjolf grabbed his chance. He slipped back into the hall and through the trapdoor in the floor. Safe once again in the Ratway, Brynjolf ran through the tunnels and burst into the Cistern.

“Delvin, we can put this little competition to an end. I’ve got the book.” He slammed the book onto the table in front of Delvin with a flourish. It was then he noticed Aerisif sitting next to him, smirking silently.

“Ah. Well. Um. This is awkward.” Delvin looked down into his cup. “Actually, mate, Aerisif here beat you to it.”

Brynjolf crossed his arms confidently. “Bah. I pulled this out of Anuriel’s room just moments ago, this is the book!”

“Open it.” Both men turned to Aerisif, who was smirking even harder if it was possible. She held an identical leather bound book firmly in her hands.

“Fine then, see what’s inside.” Brynjolf ordered. Delvin raised his eyebrows and did as Brynjolf asked, opening the cover of the book the redheaded thief had just presented him.

Inside, the most of the pages were blank, until the centerfold. There, in big letters was scrawled, “Aerisif is the best thief” and “Brynjolf is a fool”, and what appeared to be a most unkind cartoon of Mercer and Brynjolf, with the latter in a rather compromising position.

“Open yours!” Brynjolf demanded, red faced.

Aerisif obeyed. The book she held had neat lines of the daily meetings and ongoings of the Jarl, the accounts of shipments and inventories kept precisely, and details of the Jarl’s correspondence with other Jarls and traders.

Brynjolf cursed and stormed away. Aerisif smiled wider.

“I guess not everyone is cut out to be the best,” Aerisif gloated as she kicked her feet up onto the table and took a long swig of her mead.


	2. Mountain Cache

“Gods, it’s cold.” Aerisif muttered to herself. She wrapped the pelt around her shoulders tighter. “Are we nearly there?” She had to shout to be heard over the wind.

Brynjolf turned over his shoulder. Equally buried under furs, he raised his voice to be heard. “Aye, looks like its just ahead. Almost there, lass.”

The mountain they were hiking up was engulfed by a blizzard. Going was slow, the snow already deep and piling up fast. Aerisif carefully tread in Brynjolf’s tracks to make her way easier, and to hide her own.

The snow was pelting their faces, like icy arrows. They kept on, plowing through the snow and blizzard for another quarter of an hour. Brynjolf stopped at a stone cairn. He bent down to hold the snow encrusted cloth sticking out from the top. He brushed the caked on snow and ice away, revealing a piece of burlap with a Shadowmark stitched in black thread.

“Here! Look for the cave, it should be behind you!”

Aerisif turned toward the mountain face. She squinted, and made out a pile of rocks that were slightly sheltered from the blizzard. Stumbling toward them, she discovered that the cave opening was just beyond, sheltered from view by the large outcropping above.

Brynjolf ushered her inside. It was warmer in the cave, simply due to the lack of wind. Aerisif felt in her pack for a torch and lit it with a flint.

The cave was small, maybe 10, 15 paces deep and maybe an arm’s length above Brynjolf’s head. Aerisif moved the torch around until she found the cache they were looking for. A shadowmark was scrawled on a barrel tucked in the back of the cave.

“Payoff better be good,” Brynjolf murmured as he pried the lid off the barrel.

Their eyes were hit with golden shimmers reflecting the torchlight. It was full of gold, gems, fine jewelry, and beautifully crafted weapons and armor.

“Gods,” Aerisif whispered, her eyes locked on the bounty. “Okay, the hike sucks, but you were right about the payoff, Bryn.”

He gently ran his fingertips over the gold. “Let’s load up.”

The pair of thieves quickly split the treasure between their two packs. This helped lighten the load, but also prevented a total loss if one of them got caught.

“We’re not going anywhere tonight. Let’s make camp here.” Brynjolf suggested.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. I don’t want to die on this gods forsaken mountain.”

“Ah, now, lass, it’s not so bad! I think you might find it’s rather stunning up here.” He flashed her a charming smile as he stacked some wood to build a campfire.

“This? This frozen wasteland?”

“Frozen wasteland? Are you a Nord or not, lass?”

Ignoring the question, she continued. “Listen. I grew up in the Reach. We don’t get these snows there. When I left, there was a good reason I didn’t go to Winterhold or Eastmarch. _I like. Riften. Weather_. Okay?” She emphasized the last part.

A fire now glowing between them, Brynjolf smiled at her again. The firelight flickered in his green eyes, making the golden flecks inside dance. “Fine then, I guess I’ll just have to keep you warm.” He stood and walked around the fire to wrap her in a fur with him.

Aerisif snuggled close to him. “I guess that’d be okay.”

***

“Lass.”

She didn’t know when she had fallen asleep, but Aerisif woke up to a dwindling fire and alone in their bed roll. Hazy, she looked around.

“Lass,” Brynjolf called from the mouth of the cave.

Aerisif turned and saw him eagerly motioning toward her. “What is it?” She tensed and grabbed her knife. “Bandits? Trolls?” _Gods don’t let it be a troll._

“No, we’re safe. Come here!” He grinned and waved her over again.

_What has gotten into him?_

Aerisif pulled herself up and took the fur with her. She stumbled over to the cave opening in the moonlight, when she stopped in her tracks.

The sky gleamed in marbled, heart-stirring hues. The most vivid purples, blues, greens, and pinks Aerisif had ever seen painted the night sky.

It absolutely took her breath away.

Brynjolf guided her to the trail’s edge and sat her down, where he had been stargazing himself. He wrapped the fur around them both and pulled her close to him.

Aerisif could not tear her eyes away from the sky. The shimmering auroras gleamed and pulsed in the sky. Secunda and Masser were both full tonight, a rare occurrence that changed the vista. The moonlight was stunning, illuminating the mountains in pearly light.

_Oh, the mountains._

How beautiful they were! How proud they stood. The auroras painted them too, gently dusting them in jewel tones. The starlight made the snow sparkle. It reminded Aerisif of a gem Brynjolf had shown her once, a creamy white stone flecked with every color in the rainbow. _Opal,_ he had called it.

And the sea! The northern coast caught the moonlight and made it _dance. _The stars flashed and twinkled in the waves, the greens and blues of the auroras finding their home in the hues of the sea.

How quiet it was! On the hike up the mountain, how the wind had howled, and the snow and ice seemed to scream. But now, here, she was just struck with the _silence_ of it all. How this magnificent show could be happening without a single noise. How even the snowflakes falling made no sound. Aerisif was often swimming in silence, as a thief, but this was different. There was something sacred to this silence, and Aerisif dared not disturb it.

It all struck Aerisif dumb. She sat there with an open jaw, eyes wide with wonder. She felt no shiver as she soaked in the vista.

And all the while Brynjolf could not take his eyes off her.

The wonderment in her silver eyes made them shine in a way that no loot, no cache, no pay out could. The way the light caught and danced in her hair was never seen in the depths of the cistern.

But what caught him the most was just how enthralled she was in it all. She forgot the cold, forgot about the bounty in their packs. Aerisif was filled with awe and reverence, and the joy that filled her face absolutely lit it up. Brynjolf couldn’t help but get caught in the contagion of her wonder.

_That I could deliver this scene to her every night we’re alive,_ Brynjolf thought.

And so for the next several hours, while the vibrant jewel tones of the night auroras gave way to the gentle pastels of dawn, while the sea danced first with moonlight and then with the sunrise, while the snow softened from a glittering gem to a gentle white, while Aerisif watched the wonders of the world around her, Brynjolf watched the light in his love’s eyes.


	3. Wounded Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey in case you haven't picked up on it, these one-shots aren't chronological. I'm pretty much just throwing scenes out here in absolutely no order. Hope you're enjoying these!

“You did not.” Delvin’s voice was stone. “You sent that bright-eyed footpad to Goldenglow??”

Brynjolf took a sip of mead. “Mercer’s orders. Not mine.” In truth, he had doubts that their latest recruit would return successful, if at all.

Delvin whistled low. “He’s changed, Mercer. Don’t ya think? Since takin’ up Guild Master. Darker fellow. Grim.”

Brynjolf nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen it. But I suppose that’s what would happen, with all the pressure. Can you imagine trying to fill Gallus’s shoes? And after his betrayal? It would make a lad grim.”

Delvin raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head in agreement. He took another long drink. “But still, to send that little slip of a thief? Foolish. Girl’s got potential, she does.”

The Guild Second perked up. “Potential indeed. She’s been pulling quite a few jobs for you and Vex, hasn’t she?” Brynjolf tried, but couldn’t quite hide the pride in his voice.

Delvin chose to ignore Brynjolf’s interest. “And doin’ a bang up job of ‘em, too. It’s been a long time since th’ Guild has had this kind of natural talent walkin’ round the Cistern. It’s incredible. It’s like no one ever sees the girl.” He paused and watched Brynjolf struggle to maintain his features. _Curious,_ he thought. “Odd, don’t ya think, that Mercer would send such fresh blood for such an important job?”

Brynjolf shrugged. “He must think she can handle it.” He frowned. “Do you think she can handle it?”

Delvin tilted his head and squinted one eye. “She might. Hope she can. But poor Vex couldn’t even swing Goldenglow…”

His words trailed off as a new face entered the Ragged Flagon.

Both men watched as Aerisif stomped through the Flagon, leaving small puddles in her wake. As she approached, they could see she was shivering. Despite her tremors, she stormed right up to them.

Aerisif slammed the damp piece of parchment that had nearly cost her life onto the table. Both men stared wide-eyed at it.

“There. I got your damn paper.” Her black hair was dripping on her leather collar.

Delvin gathered himself first. “And the hives?”

Aerisif tossed a charred bee onto the table. “Three hives burnt, as ordered.”

Brynjolf noticed darker stains on her leathers. He felt a pang in his heart. “Lass, are you hu—“

Aerisif snapped and cut him off before he could finish the word. “I’m fine,” she growled, pulling away._Is she blushing?_ “My pay, please?”

Delvin had it covered. “Here’s your gold—“

Before he could even finish, Aerisif swiped it out of his hands and stormed over to the bar were Vekel had been watching the scene.

“Gimme that Firebrand I know you’ve got back there.” Aerisif’s voice had a steely edge to it.

Vekel looked nervously over at Brynjolf and Delvin, who were watching. “Um, well, I had been saving that for a client—“

“I will make it worth your while.” Aerisif dropped onto the counter a large collection of the gold she had just earned.

Vekel’s eyebrows raised at the sight. He silently scooped up the coins, then handed Aerisif an oversized, ornate bottle of Firebrand Wine.

“Gimme a clean rag, too.”

Vekel looked confused but obliged. Aerisif snatched the rag from him.

Brynjolf and Delvin exchanged a look, not moving their heads from the scene. They watched as Aerisif pulled the stopper from the bottle of wine with her teeth, spit the cork out, and down several gulps of the wine.

The men exchanged another look. Firebrand was not for the faint of heart.

Before they could see what Aerisif had in mind with the rag, she gingerly made her way out of the tavern, towards the common sleeping room they all shared.

_Is she limping?_

Delvin turned back to Brynjolf. “Well, there’s your answer then.” He expected Brynjolf to be beaming, but instead found his face turned toward the hall.

Delvin stood. “Let’s take this to Mercer.”

Brynjolf snapped out of it. “Yeah, okay. He’ll be wanting to know what’s inside.”

As they headed toward the Cistern, Brynjolf’s curiosity got the better of him. When Delvin turned right, he turned left toward the common sleeping area. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the scene.

Nestled in the corner, Aerisif sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. Back to the walls, she pressed the wine-soaked rag to an open wound on her arm.

The contortions of pain on her face were enough to make Brynjolf feel the sear of alcohol on flesh.

“By the Divines,” he murmured. _Too loud._ Aerisif snapped her head up to see the intruder.

Her expression was more animalistic than human. Her jaw was clenched tightly, brows furrowed close together. By most signs, she looked like a sabre cat ready to pounce. But her eyes betrayed her. They were wide and fearful.

_Like a wounded animal_.

“Bryn, come on.” Delvin called from down the corridor.

Aerisif was shooting daggers at him. _Don’t tell anyone, _they seemed to say. She never took her eyes off him.

With one last glance, Brynjolf turned away.

Through Mercer’s fury. Brynjolf couldn’t forget the image of Aerisif, coiled up, tending to her wounds alone. He only half listened while Mercer raged and speculated, nodding and agreeing with him. It wasn’t like Mercer actually wanted to hear his opinions on the matter.

Once it was clear that Mercer was done, Brynjolf stalked off. He strode straight to his personal chest, tucked in a small room off the Cistern.

He pulled out the key from his leathers, unlocked the first trap, then the second. He procured a second key, and used that to open the chest.

Brynjolf pushed aside the gold, gems, jewelry, the rare books and odd trinkets. He removed a large object wrapped in a dark cloth, and locked the chest back up.

Trying to look inconspicuous, Brynjolf made his way back to the common room behind the Flagon. Aerisif was still there, dabbing the bloodied, wine-soaked cloth to her hip now.

Brynjolf walked right up to her, to Aerisif’s horror. He pulled the cloth off to reveal a Potion of Ultimate Healing.

“No one needs to know,” he said, pushing the bottle toward her. “Take it.”

For a moment, he thought she would refuse, she was so still. Then, timidly (he had never seen her do _anything_ timidly) she reached out and took the bottle from him.

Brynjolf waited for her to say something, anything. But after an uncomfortable moment, he turned and walked away, feeling awkward. He was at the door when he heard a small sound.

“Thank you.” Aerisif croaked. Brynjolf turned around.

The look on Aerisif’s face made his heart leap.


	4. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aerisif shows an old, dear friend her new life in Riften. Brynjolf is wary of the newcomer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so sorry this one is sorta a lot longer than the other chapters?? I guess it makes up for me not posting last week. I had this idea rolling around in my head for a while, and then once I got it on the paper it just kept coming. Didn't intend for it to go so long, but it turned into a really great opportunity to character build Aerisif a little bit. I hope you enjoy all the different sides of this crew!

Aerisif was walking with her head down, a foolish thing to do anywhere, but particularly so in the Thieves’ Guild. So engrossed was she in the book she was reading, she didn’t see the Guild Second until she ran into him.

“Brynjolf!” she scolded. The red-headed rogue smirked.

“Whatcha doing, lass?” The thief’s brogue always seemed to send a pleasant chill down her spine. He stood relaxed and confident.

Aerisif raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Well you see, Brynjolf, this is call _a book. _And what intelligent people do with it is called _reading_. I wouldn’t expect you to know about it, though.”

With a smooth motion, Brynjolf pulled the book from her hands.

“That’s mine!” Aerisif protested.

“And now I have it. Funny thing, it is. We down here call it _stealing,_” he smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to know about it, though.”

_So he wants to play THIS game,_ Aerisif mused. A warm feeling bubbled in her gut. She rolled her eyes at him and brushed past him, allowing their bodies to touch for an instant as she continued walking toward the Flagon.

But Brynjolf was apparently not yet done. “I’ve read a book once, you know.”

“A truly astonishing achievement.”

“Don’t you want to know what book it was?”

“Learning your letters doesn’t count as a book, Bryn.” She nervously stole a sidelong glance at him. She hadn’t dared to use that nickname with him yet.

She found her glance returned, but Brynjolf’s gaze had a devilish tint to it. He paused to hold open the door into the Flagon for her.

“_The Lusty Argonian Maid_,” He grinned.

Aerisif felt herself flush and hoped the shadows of the Cistern hid it. “Well, we’re all _very_ proud of you,” she teased.

No sooner had she cleared the threshold into the Flagon when there was a commotion and the sound of chairs scraping against stone. A figure ran toward Aerisif. She instinctively pulled her dagger.

It was just a courier.

“Got something for you,” he panted. “A letter, from Markarth.” He handed her a folded piece of parchment. “Looks like thats it, gotta go!” And he turned and took off again, seeming to take no notice of his threatening surroundings.

Delvin, who had also prepared to fight the intruder, shook his head and sheathed his weapon. “Damn couriers, always buttin’ in where they have no business.” He craned his neck to look at the parchment. “Whatcha got there?”

Aerisif unfolded the parchment and scanned the lines quickly, her mouth creeping to a smile with every word.

_ Aerisif the Quick, Shadow of the Stone City, Highest Among Beggars, Aer Bear,_

_ How’s the other side of Skyrim? Manage to get far enough away from me and this blood soaked silver? You’ll have to try harder than that, because I’ve decided to come visit. I should arrive in Riften on Sundas, the 8th of Heartfire. Hope you’re prepared for a good bender and probably some jail time, its been too long._

_ Yours,_

_ Yngvar The Singer, The Strong, The Retribution of Markath, Yngvar Silver-Tongue, Yngvar the Handsome…_

Aerisif burst out laughing at the list of self serving names that followed.

“Well? What’s the news, lass?” Brynjolf asked with curiosity.

“Yngvar’s coming!” Aerisif was smiling from ear to ear, nearly jumping with excitement.

“Yngvar?” Brynjolf thinly veiled a frown and worry in his voice.

Aerisif didn’t hear him. “Delvin, could I get him one of our protection amulets? Just while he’s in town?”

Delvin scratched his chin. “I suppose, we have a couple left. Who is this fellow?”

Aerisif danced away again. “Tonilia’s got them, right?”

“Who is Yngvar?” Delvin asked again. Brynjolf was hanging on every word.

“Oh, we had so much fun in Markarth! Ah, I can’t believe he’s coming here!”

“Who the fuck is Yngvar?!” Brynjolf nearly shouted.

His raised voice broke Aerisif’s reverie. “Shit, I haven’t mentioned him before? Yngvar and I sort of grew up together in Markarth.”

“Did you now?” Delvin asked. “And this friend of yours—he’s not going to cause any trouble for the Guild?”

“Not at all. He also lives on our side of the law, if you know what I mean. Not a thief by any means, I can tell you that. The big brute nearly got himself killed when he tried. It’s like…Yngvar is to the Silver-Bloods what the Thieves Guild is to the Black-Briars.”

“Sounds like our kind of company!” Delvin chuckled. “Yeah, he can have our protection. Tell Tonilia I said you can use one of our amulets for your friend. Just see that he doesn’t make any trouble for us, or for Maven.”

“Thanks Delvin!” She bounced off to find Tonilia.

_Grew up together?_ Brynjolf was tossing Aerisif’s words and glee around in his head. _Big Brute? Did I see him sign that as Yngvar the Handsome?_ Brynjolf had an uneasy feeling in his gut about this.

***

Sundas came, and Aerisif had put on a fine, red, quilted tunic that she had just had made. She had washed in the lake the night before, and put some sort of ointment in her black hair that made it shine and smell enchanting. She wore an elegant gold necklace and some delicate rings, all of which she had commissioned from Madesi.

Brynjolf tried his best to ignore the fresh, flowery smell about her as she had some breakfast in the Flagon. He swung himself over a chair at her table.

“Hardly recognized you, lass. Why so dressed up?”

“Want to show off,” Aerisif said through a mouthful of sweet roll.

Brynjolf’s brow furrowed. “Show off?”

Aerisif swallowed. “Yeah! Show Yngvar that I’m making so much more money than he is. Really rub it in.”

Brynjolf nodded, understanding the desire to strike jealously. “So what do you intend on doing to entertain this friend of yours?” Brynjolf tried to ask casually over his mug of mead.

Aerisif’s face lit up. “Oh, the usual. We’ll start with a hefty round of drinking—I’ll take him to the meadery, of course— then I’ll show him around Riften. Ooh, I’ll probably take him out on the lake! There really isn’t a lake like this near Markarth, just rivers. And then of course, more drinking. Maybe here in the Flagon!”

Brynjolf tried to hide his disappointment. “Ah, yes. Well, have fun with your friend, lass.”

She took no notice of his tone. Aerisif stood and buckled her leather belt with her dagger over her new tunic. She reached for the protection amulet Tonilia had procured for her, but Brynjolf snatched it from her fingers.

“A protection amulet for your friend?” Brynjolf cooed. “This lad must be important to you.”

“Okay, I know that isn’t technically mine, but come on, Bryn,” she teased.

Brynjolf gathered his nerve and stood close to Aerisif, handing her the amulet. “The finery suits you, lass,” he whispered.

Aerisif looked at him quizzically for a moment, then smiled. “Thanks Brynjolf! We still have that tunnel out of the jail, right? Might be needing that.” She downed her tankard and bounced out of the Flagon.

Brynjolf couldn’t help himself. Mercer was out meeting with clients across Skyrim, and the Guild was running pretty smooth. He could disappear for a while. Brynjolf waited until Aerisif had left the Flagon, and then slipped out to go topside himself.

Brynjolf watched from the shadows as Aerisif waited impatiently by the North Gate, trying her best to look cool and collected. _Lass is anxious to see this fellow,_ he thought with a pang in his gut.

The gates opened for the morning and a small crowd of merchants, travelers, and mercenaries came lumbering in.

Aerisif squealed and ran towards one of them. Brynjolf watched a burly, brown-haired mercenary pick her up and hug her tight. _Gods, “big brute” is right. _The man had biceps as thick as tree limbs, and looked to be a few years older than Aerisif. He wore dark Orcish armor and carried a hefty battle axe on his back.

“Yngvar! You’re here!” Aerisif giggled as she tightly embraced the mercenary.

“In the flesh!” Yngvar set her back down, and gave her an appraising “Gods, look at you! You’ve come a long way from the burlap rags you wore when we met.”

Aerisif modeled her finery. “What can I say? Better market for my line of work out here. And you! Have you _actually finally_ replaced that leather armor you lived in?”

“Well, you know what I always say,” he grinned. “Blood and Silver are the only things that run through Markarth. And finally some silver flowed my way, to prevent my blood from running through the streets!” He laughed.

Aerisif grinned back up at the mercenary. “Come on, I want to show you around!”

Yngvar gestured outward. “Lead on!” He then placed his hand on Aerisif’s shoulder.

Brynjolf felt his heart race. Clinging to the shadows, he followed them all through their tour of Riften.

***

“So tell me, why are you really in Riften?”

“To visit my favorite street urchin, like I said in my letter.”

“Come on, the truth.”

Yngvar waved a hand. “Silver-Bloods have me running damn errands for them. Wanted me to deliver a message to someone out here.”

“Who?”

“Maven Black-Briar.”

“Maven?”

“Yeah, you know her or something?”

Aerisif laughed. “Yeah Yngvar, I know her. Everyone knows her. The Black-Briars own Riften like the Silver-Bloods own Markarth.”

“Oh shit, then this is important.”

“Yeah, troll brain, this _is_ important! What’s the message?”

“You’re kidding, right? Like I would break a sealed message from a Silver-Blood.”

“Okay, good point. Here, let’s find her. Trust me, she’ll be more welcoming to you if I’m there.”

Maven received the pair with no more than her usual disdain, and rewarded Yngvar handsomely for his delivery.

“Divines, this’ll be fun to drink off.” He said after they’d left Maven’s company, appraising the coin purse she had given him.

“We’ll drink it away at the Ragged Flagon later,” Aerisif chirped.

“That’s where you live, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the Ratway.”

“The Ratway?”

“Under the city.”

Yngvar stopped. “Under the city?”

“Yeah? Is that a problem?”

“No, not for me. But for you! How do you do it? You love to be outside, Aer! The mountains were always your home. Or at least, they used to be.”

Aerisif stopped and thought for a moment. “They still are, in my heart. But I live here now, in Riften. With the Guild. And it’s good, Yngvar.”

He considered her. “Did you find your people? This Guild, they treat you okay?”

She smiled. _Always trying to protect me._ “Yeah, Yngvar, they treat me okay. They were rough at first, but they’re always like that with the new ones. I’m part of the family now.”

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Good.” For one that was so skilled with words when singing or writing out a poem, Yngvar wasn’t so loquacious when he spoke. And that was okay by Aerisif.

“And you! The Silver-Bloods have you doing more than just playing guard dog, I see.“

Yngvar puffed out his chest a bit. “Yeah, it seems so. They pay me more now, and Thongvor is actually listening to me now. Sometimes, he even sees out my advice.”

Aerisif smiled and squeezed his arm. “I knew you had more to offer them! I’m so proud of you.”

“For better or for worse, I’m in even deeper with the Silver-Bloods now.”

“Hey.” She was whispering.“If things start to do belly up? The Guild has contacts in the Dark Brotherhood. So. You just let me know.” Her face was grave.

Yngvar stifled a giggle. “Okay Aer, I’ll let you know.” _Always trying to protect me._

“Or I can just steal something from them. I’ve gotten pretty good at that.”

“So you say,” he gave her a little shove.

“I have. So good that you didn’t even notice me steal the gold Maven gave you.” She held up the purse with an evil grin.

Yngvar swiped it back away from her. “Hey, I thought you said this dumb necklace you gave me protects me from the Guild!”

“I gave it back, didn’t I?” Aerisif smirked.

They continued to walk through the market.

“That’s Madesi, he’s the one who made my jewelry,” Aerisif pointed out the Argonian, who nodded respectfully at his new favorite client.

“Shor’s Bones, you had that all made? I assumed you stole it.” Yngvar looked shocked.

“And the tunic, too. I had all of this made.” Aerisif beamed.

Yngvar stopped and smiled. “Look at us now, Aer.” He turned to her. “We’re not the poor starving orphans we used to be.”

She smiled back. “Now we’re rich, drunk, lawless scoundrels!”

They laughed and continued walking through the city. Aerisif thought she caught a shadow move in a funny way, but when she looked again, there was nothing there.

***

That night, Aerisif brought Yngvar into the Ragged Flagon. He was forbidden from the Cistern proper, of course, but Delvin decided letting him share their mead in the tavern was just fine. Much of the Guild had turned out, to see this man that Aerisif had brought._ Just like her, to find a way to bring this lot together,_ Brynjolf mused.

They sat and drank for hours, sharing stories and hurling insults across the tables. Mead and conversation flowed smoothly. Someone procured a lute for Yngvar and he played and sang. His voice was surprisingly agile, and had a soft, nostalgic quality about it, to Brynjolf’s dismay. Yngvar The Singer he was, and seemed to captivate the attentions of many a thief in the Flagon.

Even Vex came and joined the reverie. Yngvar’s eyes latched on her as soon as she walked in,clearly enthralled. Aerisif coughed to get his attention, and with wide eyes shook her head no, and waved her hand across her throat in warning. Yngvar raised his eyebrows and sighed, but got the message. Aerisif had always kept him safe, and here in this pit of thieves he knew he needed her guidance.

“So, how do you guys know each other?” Vex asked as she sat down.

“Well. After my parents died, I lived on the streets in Markarth. I begged for a while, and once that stopped working, I stole. I’d been doing that for a few years when Yngvar moved to Markarth, straight from the Bard’s College.”

“You were a bard?” Tonilia gushed. She had not taken her eyes off of Yngvar since she had walked in with Vex moments ago.

Yngvar scoffed. “_Am_ a bard. Just because I make my coin wielding an axe and spilling blood doesn’t mean I’m no less skilled with a lute. Or my tongue.” He grinned devilishly, spurring guffaws and laughter from the others. Aerisif could practically see Tonilia’s heart flutter.

“Anyways, here was young Yngvar, head full of ideas and songs from the college, ready to make his way plying his arts.”

Vex snorted. “How’d that one work out for ya?”

Yngvar swallowed his mead. “Not so good.” He smiled sadly. “Turns out there was about as much coin in Markarth as there was in my home village, only spread across more people. And the ones that had the coin, weren’t spending it on music and poems.”

“So before he lost all his morals, Yngvar would try to sing for his supper in the streets and tavern. Too honest of a lad for Markarth.” Aerisif sounded a little sad. “One night, I watched him from an upper level of the city—“

“Upper levels?” Sapphire asked.

“You haven’t been to Markarth? It’s chiseled out of the mountainside. Whole city is carved in stone, with so many tiers and bridges and towers its hard to keep track.”

“Must be grand,” Sapphire said dreamily. It seemed Yngvar’s charm caught her too.

“It’s not,” both Aerisif and Yngvar said together, bursting into laughter after.

“Anyway, I was watching him beg _every last person _who walked by to pay him for a song, and no one even gave him the time of day. It was getting dark, and I hadn’t seen him eat anything for days.”

“You were watching me?” Yngvar said, surprised.

“Of course I was. Had to decide if you were a threat.”

“Ah, true thief’s instincts, that,” Delvin boasted. “Always destined for the Guild.”

“_If I can get on with it_,” Aerisif said exasperated. “I had done pretty well that week, with the coin. I went down to the Inn, put all my septims on the counter, and bought one hot meal and an ale. Frabbi looked suspicious of me, but the coin was there so she gave me the meal. Took it right outside and told Yngvar I’d share it with him.”

Brynjolf felt his heart fall into his stomach.

“But I insisted on singing for it!” Yngvar laughed. “After that, I looked after her. Not a week later, Aerisif got caught redhanded by this really twisted merchant that would come through the city every so often. He wasn’t bothered to call the guard— he was gonna settle it himself. As soon as I saw him draw his sword, I ran in there and bashed his head with my lute. Didn’t have so much as a butter knife on me, but I was bigger than him, and he backed off and let her go.”

Brynjolf felt his stomach twist itself into tight knots. _Ah, forget it, lad! Drop it, she’s taken._

“From then on, we worked as a team. I made sure we stayed fed, and Yngvar made sure we stayed alive. We made a good team.” She smiled across the table from him.

It felt like a hot knife was ravaging its way inside Brynjolf.

“We sure did. Once I gave up the lute and picked up the axe, if I couldn’t shake it out of someone, Aerisif would steal it from them. Earned our meals that way.”

_Is there something wrong with this mead? Feels like I drank a skeever, _Brynjolf thought.

“Well, you’re _awfully_ cute together,” Vex made the words so sugary it was sickening.

Brynjolf squinted. _Did she say that for my benefit?_

Aerisif and Yngvar both erupted in laughter. Yngvar shot the mead he had been drinking out through his nose, which made Aerisif laugh even harder. Her laughter rang across the tavern, and she gripped her sides from it.

Wiping her eyes while Yngvar wiped his face, Aerisif managed to speak between breaths. “NO. We are. Absolutely. NOT. A couple.” She exhaled, trying to regain her breath.

Brynjolf lifted his head.

“You’re not?” Delvin asked.

Yngvar shook his head. “Nope. Aerisif here is the only family I’ve got. She’s my little sister, as far as I’m concerned.

The knife turned to a sweet, bubbly feeling. _It’s the mead,_ Brynjolf told himself.

“You never even thought about it?” Tonilia tried to hide her hope.

“No. Yngvar, I love you, but you aren’t really my type.” Aerisif smirked.

“And you’re not mine, Aer.”

“I know, you prefer the blondes,” She teased. Tonilia and Sapphire frowned and shifted at this remark, and Vex let a dark and threatening look settle into her features.

“And you…Wait. There’s not really been a pattern!” Yngvar was puzzled. “For all the men I’ve seen you take—“

“Excuse me, SEEN ME?”

“No! I meant— I meant—“ Yngvar blushed and got flustered.

“I know what you meant,” Aerisif punched his shoulder. “And I’m glad you can’t figure out my type. I prefer it that way. Keeps my air of mystery.” she raised her tankard to her lips.

_All the men?_ Brynjolf took a long drink to hide his features. _Ah, don’t be daft. You’ve been around a few times yourself._

***

Hours later, Yngvar had excused himself for the night. He left for the Bee and Barb, where he had rented a room. Aerisif hugged Yngvar and sent him on his way, the pair to reconnect in the morning.

The other thieves had already dispersed, to run jobs or to get some sleep. Brynjolf had held back, and suddenly the Flagon held just him and Aerisif. She began to walk to the common sleeping area, when Brynjolf blocked her path.

He put on that charming grin of his. “Well, that was very, _educational_, lass,” he drawled. “Learned more about you in those few hours than I have in the months I’ve known you.”

Aerisif flashed a smile back. Her face was flushed from the mead she had been drinking. “I’m sure that watching normal social interactions _would_ be educational, for you.”

“But you know, there’s a few things I still didn’t learn.”

“Oh Bryn, there’s _many_ things you didn’t learn.”

He ignored the playful jab. “You never did reveal your type, lass.”

Aerisif cocked her head. “My type?”

“Yeah, the pattern for all of these supposed men you’ve bedded.”

“Since I’m tired I’ll ignore the ‘supposed’ part you just dropped. You want to know my type?”

His emerald eyes twinkled. “Indulge me, lass.”

Aerisif took a step forward. Brynjolf could still smell that flowery scent on her, but it was mingled with the honey of the mead she had been drinking. She looked up at him with those wide, silvery eyes. She moved forward again and he could feel a whisper of her body brush his, just enough to send a chill down his spine. Aerisif got right up next to him and murmured in his ear:

“My type? Is the type that’s brave enough to speak up.” She winked, slid around him and walked off to her bed in the common area.

Brynjolf watched her walk off and shivered. “I’ll be in my bunk,” he whispered to no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for knowing what the last line is a reference to! :D


	5. Markarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aerisif requests a detour when she and Brynjolf are assigned a job in Markarth.

_“_I need another pick.”

“Another? Divines, lass, are you a thief or not?”

“Divines, _lad_, I’m just not as good with the locks as you!”

“Shor’s Bones. Get out of the way.” Brynjolf gave Aerisif a playful shove as she made room in front of the locked door.

“Fuckin’ hurry up, Bryn, the guard will be back any second.”

“We’d be in already if you knew how to pick a damned lock properly!” he taunted.

“Or if you had just picked the lock like I had asked in the first place, instead of insisting on making this a _learning experience._” Aerisif rolled her eyes at him.

The satisfying _click_ of a lock answered her.

“Let’s go.”

The pair of thieves slipped into the Dwarven structure. Bronze Dwarven metal plated the more ornate carvings in the entryway, not uncommon in the wealthy dwellings in Markarth.

Two shadows silently made their way across the stone floor. Bryn reached an arm out to stop Aerisif. He pointed across the hall, to where a jeweled flagon sat proudly on the mantle. Aerisif nodded, and wordlessly padded into the shadows.

_Her lockpicking needs work, but gods, I’m standing next to her and looking right at her and I can’t see or hear her,_ Brynjolf thought proudly.

Only when she passed by a flickering candle did Bryn see the light dance on her ebony hair. A dark, leather clad arm reached up to the top of the mantle and snatched the gem crusted flagon from its place of pride.

A moment later, the thief was back by Brynjolf’s side. She nodded at him and they made their way back out the heavy stone and metal door.

“Well done, lass!” Brynjolf clapped a hand on her shoulder.

Aerisif beamed. “That did go pretty well, didn’t it?”

_Gods, that smile. _“You are turning out to be more and more of an asset to the Guild, lass.”

She nodded, distracted. “It’s a bit strange to be here with you in Markarth. It’s like my worlds colliding a bit.”

Brynjolf looked around. The sun was starting to rise on the stone city, painting the gray rocks with gentle pastels. He had been to Markarth plenty of times in his life, pulling jobs here. But he had never considered that this was Aerisif’s home, where she grew up and learned the basics of the trade. Brynjolf’s only childhood memories were of Honorhall and Riften.

Aerisif had a sort of sad, nostalgic look on her face.

“Sun’s rising,” Brynjolf said, trying to distract her. “Best we’re out of the city once this bastard realizes we stole his trinket.”

She nodded again. _What’s gotten into her?_

Aerisif and Brynjolf retrieved their horses from the stables and were well across the bridge when the sun fully rose. They rode in silence. Aerisif had been pulling flowers off of the trees as they rode by, making a bouquet of sorts. They approached a large boulder and Aerisif pulled her horse to a stop.

“Can we make a detour?”

Brynjolf was about to decline when he saw her face. It looked strained, like she had some heavy load she was bearing.

“Of course, lass,” he said, surprised.

She lead them off the main road onto a small trail that Brynjolf would not have noticed otherwise. The horses walked single file.

The sun was high above them when Aerisif pulled her mare to a stop at the top of a hill. There was a cluster of trees at the bottom, and some overgrown fields adjacent.

“What is it, Aer? Where are we?” Brynjolf searched around him for an answer.

Aerisif slid off her horse and started to walk down the hill.

“Where are you going lass?” Brynjolf was concerned. He jumped off his own horse and followed her down the hill.

Aerisif walked past the cluster of trees and out of sight. Brynjolf’s heart beat a little faster.

“Aer! Wait up!”

Brynjolf made it around the trees and his breath caught in his throat.

Hidden behind the grove was a burnt down house. Moss covered its shattered bones and grass grew within, nature reclaiming the land. Through the fresh foliage Brynjolf could still see the charred wood.

_This was a farm,_ he realized, now identifying another structure as the remains of a barn, and noticing rusted farm tools lying near the field.

Aerisif was walking silently through it,placing her hand on the walls that still stood. She wandered to a back room, one that Brynjolf imagined was once a bedroom. Aerisif knelt in one corner, murmured something, and gently placed a flower on the ground. Brynjolf watched in silence as she repeated this ritual in every room, finishing with a flower placed where the doorway once was.

She held three more flowers in her fist. With hazy, dreamy eyes she floated over to where two rocks sat. Brynjolf followed silently, caught in whatever magic seemed to hang over this place, but stayed a respectful distance away.

Aerisif knelt in front of the rocks. She repeated her murmurs here, Brynjolf still too far away to hear the words she whispered. She placed a flower in front of both the rocks.

After a while, Brynjolf found himself drawn to her side. Kneeling beside her, he could see the rocks had words etched into them. One read “Kjolti”, and the other “Gardamor”.

“These are my parents,” Aerisif mumbled, breaking the silence.

Brynjolf felt a pang in his heart. Aerisif had never mentioned her family.

He watched as she placed the final flower, a small blossom that had barely bloomed, in between the graves.

“For the little girl they left,” Aerisif whispered. “May their bones nourish the earth, may their souls dance with the ancestors, and may their memories live forever with their descendants,” She chanted the Nordic burial rites.

As silently as she came upon the place, she rose and walked back up the hill. She hid her face from Brynjolf, but he could hear her sniffling.

They reached the top of the hill. Aerisif was about to mount her horse again when Brynjolf’s arm caught her arm. She turned around.

His emerald eyes were round and thoughtful. “Lass,” he began.

She surprised him by falling into his arms. He caught her in the embrace and held her tightly.

A moment later she pulled away. Her silver eyes glimmered with tears again. “Thank you, Bryn.”

He smiled back, daring to stroke her hair. “Of course, lass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this the last one shot, but it's too sad to end on. I'll write something happier and fluffier next week, then I'll be focusing on a longer work!


	6. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aerisif and Brynjolf dive into a Dwarven ruin, post Darkness Returns quest line events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I finally got to the last one! I actually had time to write this week. Lately I've been absolutely drowning with work so having a moment to relax and write was wonderful! This took a TOTAL different direction than I had intended but I like where it ended up. Hope you do too!

“Don’t step there,” Aerisif warned.

“Lass, I’m a proper thief. I can spot a damn pressure plate.”

“You haven’t spent _nearly_ as much time in Dwarven ruins as I have. In Markarth, you can’t spit without hitting a Dwemer ruin. I learned how to sneak in them, cut my teeth by _surviving_ them.”

Brynjolf’s cloaked figure raised his hands up. “Fine, fine, lass, you reign supreme in knowledge of all things Dwemer. But I saw the damn pressure plate.”

“Stop.”

Aerisif’s whispery tone changed from playful to serious in a heartbeat. Brynjolf heard the sound too, frozen in his tracks. A moment later, a Dwarven Sphere rolled across the end of the bronze hallway the thieves were sneaking through. It hadn’t yet detected the pair.

Aerisif notched an ebony arrow on her Nightingale Bow. She steadied her breath, and let the arrow fly down the hall. Brynjolf released an arrow not a second after hers.

The twin arrows collided into the automaton with two piercing crunches. The metal beast recoiled from the impact, then turned to fix its lifeless gaze on the intruders. It began to race down the hallway.

It never made it. Two more arrows pierced its bronze shell and the automaton crumbled and shattered.

Aerisif kept a third arrow on the string, while Brynjolf crept closer to the ruins, ebony sword drawn. He peered around the corner, then sheathed his blade in an indication of safety.

Relaxing the bow, Aerisif hustled to the remains of the Dwarven sphere. She recovered an amethyst and a mostly full soul gem, and pocketed them before padding down the hall to join Brynjolf. Around the corner lay another large Dwarven chamber, with many smaller chambers adjoining it. Her partner stared off into the massive chamber.

“Are you sure it’s in here, lass?” Brynjolf studied the maze ahead.

Aerisif nodded. “I’m sure. Enthir was confident that the dagger was sealed in this city.”

The rogue ran his hand over the black leather hood cloaking him and sighed. “Then I suppose we ought to press on.”

***

Silently, the pair crept on through the labyrinth of rooms and halls. They paused often along the way, one picking the lock on a gate that seemed to promise riches while the other kept watch.

Their packs laden with treasure, they carried on deeper and deeper into the ruin. The pair of Nightingales finally came to a colossal bronze door, intricately carved with perfect angular lines in Dwarven fashion.

Aerisif breathed in deep, feeling the pressure difference heavily so far under ground. “It’s through here. I just know it.”

“Aye lass, I would hope so. We’ve been down here for ages now.” He grumbled.

“What, a little Dwemer ruin got you down?” she grinned at her pun, but found her mirth was not returned.

“There’s nothing little about this gods damned skeever hole.”

Aerisif turned to her partner, pulling down her hood and cowl for a better look at him. “What’s the matter, Bryn?”

The other thief pulled his hood and cowl down in frustration. “The matter is that we are wasting Guild resources on this wild goose chase. We’re fragile enough as it is right now, and you’ve got the two of us, highly talented thieves both, scuttering around this damned rat maze in the dark looking for a myth.”

Aerisif was taken aback.”Is that how you feel about these ruins?”

“Aye.” Brynjolf’s expression was dark and clouded.

She blinked, her wide silver eyes catching the eerie green lights of the Dwarven ruin. “I didn’t realize you felt that way,” she said in a small voice. “I could have brought someone else. You didn’t have to come.”

Brynjolf locked his emerald eyes with hers. “Are you mad?”

Again, Aerisif was shocked. “I don’t know what you mean—“

“Lass. I’m not letting you out of my sight. After everything you’ve been through, after Irkingthand, after Snow Veil, after what Mercer—“ his voice choked up and he paused while he collected himself. “I was not about to let you put yourself in danger for the Guild again while I sit in the Cistern shuffling papers.”

Aerisif felt her features soften at his words. She stepped toward Brynjolf, and she placed a gloved hand on his stubbly cheek. “Hey,” she pulled his chin so that she could look him in the eyes. _Those damned eyes._ “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me.”

Brynjolf closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her hand, before reaching out and grabbing Aerisif’s face in his own gloved hands. He stroked her cheeks, and finally his features relaxed into tenderness. “Aye lass, I’ve got you.” He whispered.

***

The pair of Nightingales stood at the edge of a field of pressure plates, punctuated with spouts that undoubtedly, judging by the charred ends of pipes, would spit fire. In the center of the room was a tall pedestal, upon which sat the jewel encrusted dagger the thieves sought.

Hoods and cowls once again covering their faces, Brynjolf and Aerisif stood with arms crossed, assessing the situation.

“We could try—“

“No, it’s too far.”

“Right.”

Still as statues they stood.

“What about if we…”

“Isn’t that how Vex got busted?”

“Shit, yeah.”

For as much talent as there was between the two thieves, they had no idea how to proceed.

Aerisif snapped her fingers, though the sound was almost entirely muffled by the enchanted leather. “I’ve got it.”

“What’s the plan, lass?”

The shadow cloaked Guild Master rummaged through her pack. “I’ve got one potion of resist fire in here that I nicked on my last bedlam job. I’m gonna take it and run across.” She pulled her cowl down to expose her mouth.

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to let you,” Brynjolf warned.

But Aerisif had already uncorked the bottle with her teeth. “Then I’m mad!” She threw her head back, slammed the tincture, and smashed the bottle on the stone with a wicked smile.

“NO!” Brynjolf reached out and tried to grab her, but the tail of her cape just evaded his fingers. He held his breath as he watched his love go up in flames.

The shadowed thief danced across the floor, laughing as she narrowly missed the searing jets of fire, and yelping when she didn’t. A moment later she was on the other side, and pulled the heavy chain to deactivate the traps.

Brynjolf sprinted across the floor, the idle traps clicking under his weight. He rushed to Aerisif’s side, where she sat slumped against a wall.

“Shor’s bones lass, I_ swear_,” Brynjolf shook his head. “Mad as Sheogorath.”

Her skin red and shining from the flames, Aerisif grinned. “Only mad as? I guess I’ll have to try harder.” She chuckled and opened her fist.

The dagger was flawless. Diamonds were set into the Dwarven blade, and gold and emeralds ornamented the hilt. Crafted perfectly, the blade balanced beautifully in her palm.

The sight of it distracted the pair from both anger and pain for a moment as they were captivated by the joy of theft.

Brynjolf stroked her hair. “Come on, I need to get you back.”

Aerisif winced as she tried to stand. “More importantly, we need to get the dagger to Delvin.”

Brynjolf shook his head again. “More importantly? I love a good heist as much as you lass, but I think you’ve got your priorities mixed up, little Sheo.”

“Not sure how our new Mistress feels about you comparing me to another Daedra,” Aerisif teased through labored breaths.

“Oh just shut up lass,” Brynjolf laughed as he easily picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he strode off toward the lift that would take them back to the surface. She cried out involuntarily as he hoisted her.

“Shh, lass, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At that's a wrap on my series of one-shots! It was nice to just write this little vignettes and not worry about how to tie it together and the larger implications of every sentence. Hope you all liked these little scenes and characterizations of my girl Aer!
> 
> Coming Soon... (that's a lie, life is about to smack me in the face, it won't be soon)
> 
> Coming Eventually... A long, multi chapter work featuring Aerisif post Helgen, and with a different faction than I've written for before!


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